Reactions: A Tale of Unmitigated Sap
by LunaSphere
Summary: An unabashedly sappy sequel to my other story Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl. Following the quotidian details that compose Ahiru and Fakir's happily ever after.
1. Reaction 1: Fakir

A/N: I had first thought to post this at the end of my earlier story, "Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl," but having decided to make this a multi-chapter work, it makes more sense to start a new story all together. For some reason, writing sap seems to be my new reaction to stress from RL. Expect to see more chapters, although updates will be highly irregular.

Thanks to all who have reviewed my work or listed it under favorites. It's gratifying to know my scribbles are read.  
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**Reactions: A Tale of Unmitigated Sap **

An unabashedly sappy sequel to my other story Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl. Following the quotidian details that compose Ahiru and Fakir's happily ever after.

Disclaimer: I own neither Princess Tutu nor any of the quoted material  
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* * *

_Another autumn_, Fakir thought looking out his window as the rising sun touched trees already resplendent with flaming leaves. It was just a little over a year since Ahiru had turned into a girl again—for good this time. Funny how life could change in such a small amount of time. What was one year compared to his entire lifetime? A negligible fraction. And yet…this one year was filled with some of his most precious memories. Some of those treasured memories would seem so insignificant to a casual observer, but to Fakir they were everything. 

How much it mattered to him, for example, that almost every day, he would have lunch with Ahiru. Usually it was just the two of them but occasionally some one or other of Ahiru's friends would come find them—those ballet bubbleheads, a strange quiet drawing student, the crazy drama club girls, among many others. He wasn't sure if Ahiru ever noticed, but they were all the people she had helped as Princess Tutu, gravitating towards her as if still feeling the forgotten pull of her kindness.

It was a routine now. Fakir would walk over to the ballet building, and find her sitting by the fountain of two dancers performing a pas de deux. After ingesting Ahiru's first few culinary disasters, Fakir started bringing lunch for both of them. Sometimes they went to the pizzeria in town. The first time Ahiru had suggested that, Fakir had been anxious. After all, that was almost like an official date. Did that mean Ahiru knew how he felt about her? Did that mean she felt the same about him? But then somehow, those bubbleheaded ballet girls had ended up there too; Fakir still couldn't figure out if that was intentional or coincidental. And then he realized, with Ahiru in the equation, it would be impossible to figure out: logical explanations seemed impossible with her. He decided to stop worrying. He would simply enjoy his time with her.

Those few times where either one of them couldn't make the lunch date—there was that damned word again!—his entire day would seem worse. Dull somehow. He wondered often how he had ever lived without her, without her enlivening presence bringing color to his life, without her kindness softening his jagged edges.

Fakir made a slightly disgusted face at his faint reflection in the window pane. Since when was he so sentimental? He hurriedly gathered his books and left for Kinkan Academy.  
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* * *

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Ahiru was frantic. She couldn't find it. Where had she put it? How could she lose such an important thing? _Come on, Ahiru, _she chided herself. _Try to think rationally. Where was the last place you put it?_ Gah! She couldn't remember! Now what? Maybe she should ask Fakir for help. He was the one for rational thinking. But then he would know she had lost the birthday present he'd given her just two months ago. That had been so considerate of Fakir—not just the present, but the birthday itself. Since Ahiru was a duck, she really didn't know exactly how old she was. And ducks, not really bothered by such things as time didn't really keep track of birth dates. Ahiru hadn't given much thought to the matter at all, until one day late in the summer Fakir had suggested out of the blue that they celebrate a birthday for her. He said the day Lede had turned her into a girl again would be fitting since that was kind of like a being born again. Ahiru had thought back to the small cozy family birthday they'd celebrated for Fakir earlier in the year. It had just been her, Charon, Rachel, and Fakir. Just remembering the soft smile on Fakir's face as he had looked at the birthday cake Rachel and Charon had made and touched the present Ahiru had given him made her heart ache just as it had then. She'd gotten him a brilliant blue writing quill, made from a feather that a kingfisher had given her quite willingly when she had confessed her dilemma about Fakir's present to the birds at her window. Making it into a quill had actually been the hard part, but she'd found a small shop that had agreed to do it for her, capping it with a silver pen nib since the feather itself was too delicate to carve. He had thanked her so sincerely, but the best part was that whenever she had seen him using it, his green eyes smiled even if his mouth did not. 

Simply the thought behind Fakir's idea to give her a birthday had touched her so much that when he had given her that small gift-wrapped package, she'd felt tears well up. Of course he'd teased her about that and of course she'd huffed angrily. And now she'd lost the present that, knowing Fakir, he had considered so carefully before choosing for her. He was Fakir, so of course he'd brood over it. And then he'd think she didn't like it since she'd already lost it. How could she possibly explain? She'd lost it _because_ she'd liked it so much; she carried it with her almost everywhere.

Ahiru agonized. What was she going to _do_? For now, she'd just search some more. Her dormroom already looked like a disaster zone since she'd upended everything while looking about recklessly. Well, she'd just have to go back to everywhere she'd been that day and try to find it!  
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* * *

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She was exhausted. Following her resolution, Ahiru had looked everywhere—her room, the ballet practice rooms, the art classroom where she took a painting class, by the fountain where she'd had lunch with Fakir, the library where she'd gone to chat with him in the afternoon after practice, by the lake where she usually went every morning, and just about every place in between and still she'd had no luck! 

She'd cherished it, the small book of poems Fakir had given her: her very first present on her very first birthday. She remembered Fakir reading her some other poems by the same poet when she'd still been a duck and he'd come to the lake to fish every day. Somehow, he'd figured out that she'd liked them. It was a small elegant book, the paper fine, the print graceful.

On the flyleaf, Fakir had scrawled simply,  
_Ahiru,  
I wish you the happiest birthday._

This was followed by a blot of ink—which Ahiru had thought odd since Fakir valued good penmanship—almost as if he'd hesitated, uncertain on how to close the little missive. Then as if changing his mind, simply a dash and his name.

Ahiru had loved it; at first simply because it was a gift from Fakir but as she read through it, she came to love it for the poems, all of them beautiful, delicately wrought creations that seemed to say all she wanted to say. There was one poem in particular that she'd read over and over ever since he'd given her the book. She wished she could read it to him. She wished she had the courage.

And she had lost that priceless book. Well, she'd bite the bullet tomorrow during dance practice and tell him.  
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* * *

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He idly traced the edges of the little leather-bound volume with his fingers; it was a book of sonnets by a poet Fakir had thought Ahiru would like. The pages looked well thumbed, the spine slightly lined as if she'd read it over and over again. There was one page in particular near the end marked by a small feather serving as a bookmark that looked like it had received particular attention. He'd been so uncertain about what to give her for the impromptu birthday celebration he'd suggested that he had even asked Rachel for advice. He had no idea what girls liked, he admitted to her. And Rachel had simply laughed. He'd stalked away angrily while she tried to apologize and call out to him "Fakir, anything will do. Whatever you give her, she'll treasure." 

He'd thought of several potential birthday presents. Jewelry since he had some notion that all girls liked jewelry, but that just brought to mind the necklace twisted with Raven's blood that Mytho had unwittingly gifted Tutu with. He'd thought of toe-shoes, but that seemed so obvious. Besides they also carried unhappy connotations from the past: Mytho tainted by Raven's blood had first revealed himself by destroying toe-shoes. He'd considered simply getting flowers, but that didn't seem to be enough for a birthday present. It all seemed hopeless. And so he settled on the one thing he did know. Books. And best of all, after that summer of reading out loud to her when she was still a duck, he knew Ahiru's tastes.

With all this in mind, he'd gotten her a collection of sonnets and as he wrote out (as always, using the quill Ahiru had given him to write the things that mattered) a birthday wish to her on the inside cover, he had almost closed with  
_Love,  
Fakir_

From anyone else, it would have seemed simply a gesture of friendship. But Fakir never threw around such personal words as "love" casually. He was probably overthinking it all, but he couldn't help feeling that writing it would expose everything in his heart. When Ahiru had turned back in to a duck, and then disappeared for weeks, when it seemed he had lost everything, Fakir had been forced to realize his feelings for her. But now that she was back in his life, reserve and uncertainty had sent those feelings back into hiding. Besides, the book itself was risky enough: all the poems were about love. He was already giving himself away, he couldn't hazard actually writing "Love, Fakir." She'd loved Mytho, after all, how could she possibly love Fakir? How could he confess his feelings with one careless word? What if she didn't love him? What if—as he hesitated, a drop of ink blotted the rich creamy paper and he cursed his idiocy, signing with simply a dash and his name. _Coward_, he'd thought to himself as he waited for the ink to dry.

The way her expressive blue eyes had widened and then started to tear up when he gave her his gift had made Fakir's heart ache. So of course, he'd teased her to cover it up.

And the book he'd given her on her birthday had fallen out of her bag today as she dashed off after lunch. Not realizing what it was, Fakir had picked it up, calling out her name but she was already heading toward the entrance of the ballet building. Looking at the cover, he realized it was the book he'd bought for her. So she had liked it after all.  
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* * *

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Ahiru was fluttering with anxiety the next day as she waited in the practice room for Fakir to arrive. He only had ballet once a week now that he was only cross-registered in the Kinkan Academy of Ballet and wasn't majoring in dance anymore. Ahiru always looked forward to Fridays since not only would she get to practice with Fakir— it was nothing at all like that first time she'd danced with him which had been painful and embarrassing as he'd insulted her and warned her off Mytho; now when they danced together, somehow, somehow, it always made her feel graceful, even when she made mistakes—but they would spend most of the day together an she would go over to his house for dinner. 

She was early today, which was unusual for her, but her worry over the approaching confession hadn't allowed her to sleep. She'd gotten to class so early that she was the only one there. She was trying to figure out what she would say when the door handle turned and someone else stepped into the room. Fortunately, or perhaps not so fortunately Ahiru thought, it was Fakir; she'd have to face him now.

"Good morning, Fakir!" her voice overly loud in her nervousness.

Fakir arched an eyebrow as he turned to look at her from where he had started warming up. She had apprehension written all over her face. He sighed. "All right, what's the matter?"

"Matter?" Ahiru gasped. "How did you know something's the matter?"

"Will you just tell me what's bothering you?"

"Um. Well, you see…I…Well."

Fakir sighed again, crossing his arms impatiently. He was about to open his mouth and say something that reflected his irritation when the thought struck him that it might be serious. She looked tired, dark circles around her eyes as if she hadn't slept, her irrepressible vitality somewhat dimmed. Was Ahiru all right? What could have gotten her so worked up?

As if the worry in his eyes had relaxed her tension, Ahiru finally seemed to gather herself together and a torrent of words spilled out of her mouth, "I'm so sorry, Fakir! I didn't mean to lose it, but I did. And I looked everywhere I could think of yesterday, but I can't find it! But that doesn't mean it's not important to me! I'm just careless, you know how careless I am! Birdbrain, right? It means a lot to me and I'm really sorry, can you forgive me?"

He stared at her blankly and blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, haha! I didn't say, did I? The book you gave me." She bowed, her hands together in apology. "I'm so sorry!"

To think she'd gotten so worked up over that! While he felt bad that she'd worried so, part of him was happy to see it mattered so much to her. But surely, she'd feel that way about any of her friends' presents a hopeless part of him whispered. His good mood effectively dampened, Fakir turned to his bag and pulled out the little book. "Oh, you mean this?"

Her eyes lit up, even brighter than when he'd first given it to her. "Where did you find it?.!" she cried out gratefully.

"It fell out of your bag yesterday at lunch. Does it really mean that much to you?" he asked as he handed it to her.

She clutched the book to her chest. "You have no idea." Then, her expression firming into one of resolution, Ahiru flipped to the page marked by the feather, "Fakir, I—"

Just then, a group of ballet students entered. Ahiru hung her head in frustration. Just when she'd made up her mind to tell him too! Somehow, getting back the book she'd thought lost forever convinced her she should tell him how she felt. That journey outside Kinkan Town had revealed her feelings to herself and that one poem in the book had seemed to put them into concrete words. If she never told him, she had realized as she searched desperately for the book all yesterday, everything would be lost, just like she had thought the book was. Even if he didn't love her back, she loved him and she had to tell him.

"Ahiru, are you all right?" he asked with concern shadowing his eyes.

"Yeah. Fakir, I—can I talk to you after class?" She would do this. She _would_.  
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* * *

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_Well, whatever she decided, it's not doing her ballet much good_ Fakir thought as they practiced together. _She's making more mistakes than usual._ And yet, he could never tease her about her dancing after the heartfelt performance she'd given during the final battle with the Raven. 

For her part, not only was Ahiru distracted, but every time Fakir touched her, or even brushed against her, all her nervousness about what she'd resolved to do at the end of class seemed to swallow her up. How would she survive until then? How would she survive afterwards?  
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* * *

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After the last stragglers had trailed out of the practice room, Ahiru turned to Fakir, but all the possible words she'd decided on fled her as she faced him. Fakir, really beginning to worry that something might be wrong now, started to ask her if she felt sick when finally, she clutched the little book he'd returned to her, opened to the page marked by the feather, tore it out, handed it to him, and sprinted out of the room. 

_Well,_ he mused, _that was bizarre even by her standards._ Then he looked down at the page she had left in his hands and his heart seemed to seize.

**_"Not in a Silver Casket" _****_by Edna St. Vincent Millay  
_**  
_Not in a silver casket cool with pearls  
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,  
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls  
Have given their loves, I give my love to you;  
Not in a lover's-knot, not in a ring  
Worked in such a fashion, and the legend plain:  
Semper fidelis,—where a secret spring  
Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain.  
Love in the open hand, no thing but that,  
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,  
As one should bring you cowslips in a hat  
Swung from the hand or apples in her skirt  
I bring you, calling out as children do:_  
"_Look what I have! And these are all for you."_

Was he understanding her right? Was his hope mere wishful thinking? Did she—? Could she perhaps—? The thoughts were too fraught with a painful hope for him to even complete. And yet not really knowing was worse. He chased after her.  
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For all her petite build, Ahiru was a good runner. When he at last caught up with her, Fakir was out of breath. He was also at a loss for words. At last, as if in desperation, he put his hands on her shoulders and said, "I love you," his face angled down, his eyes shadowed. 

He didn't see her eyes widen in surprise and relief, but he felt her hand as she reached up and touched his cheek. He looked down into her face at last and whispered, "Do you love me?"

"Yes," she said as she threw her arms around him. "Yes" she repeated into his chest.

Fakir couldn't believe it. It had to be a dream or a lie or…_something_. He could not grasp happiness. It was not, was never meant, to be his. "But, but what about Mytho?" he asked, trying to dismantle this daydream that was so painful because it taunted him with all his longings and reinstate the harsh truths of reality.

"Huh?" Ahiru responded eloquently. "Mytho, what does he have to do with anything?"

That slightly puzzled look on her face made Fakir want to kiss her. But the thought in itself was too painful to entertain. "You loved him. Princess Tutu would have vanished for his sake," he said at last. "How could you possibly love someone like me?"

Ahiru finally pulled herself away from him and looked up in pure surprise this time. "I didn't—that was a crush really. Really, I loved the _idea_ of Mytho. I don't think I ever knew who he really was until much too late. But you, I know you. Your flaws. Your kindness. This," she said, touching his face again gently, "this is love."

That was all Fakir needed to hear. His arms tightened around her waist as he bent his head slightly and kissed her.

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_Until next time...  
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	2. Reaction 2: Charon

Ch 2: Charon

A/N: I had first thought to post this at the end of my earlier story, "Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl," but having decided to make this a multi-chapter work, it makes more sense to start a new story all together. This chapter was awfully awkward to write, and no doubt is awkward to read, but since I spent the time to write it, I figure I might as well post it.

You will need to read "Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl" to understand how Ahiru is human again.  
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**Reactions: A Tale of Unmitigated Sap **

An unabashedly sappy sequel to my other story Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl. Following the quotidian details that compose Ahiru and Fakir's happily ever after.

Disclaimer: I own neither Princess Tutu nor any of the quoted material.  
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* * *

Kissing Ahiru then had been fine and well (if he were honest with himself, it was much more than just "fine and well"), Fakir discovered, as he and Ahiru walked back towards Fakir's house for their weekly "family" dinners, but dealing with the consequences afterwards most certainly was _not_. The two walked back in a comfortable silence, their fingers twined, as the last of the setting sun glimmered through the trees and twilight purples streaked the sky. It wasn't that he regretted it—if anything, realizing that his love for Ahiru was not some tragedy of unrequited love (why was his mind thinking in Drosselmeyer's vocabulary? was he really that pessimistic about his own future?) was the happiest moment of his life, but he wished that he did not have to deal with the aftermath of it. And as these thoughts clustered in his mind, somehow, the silence wasn't quite as comfortable anymore. 

Already, the walk back was becoming more and more awkward the closer they drew to his house. Abruptly, Fakir let go of Ahiru's hand as they neared the door. The idea of holding hands in front of Charon embarrassed him beyond belief. He briefly wondered if Ahiru minded.

Fakir paused at the door, unsure if he should apologize for snatching his hand away like that. Then he felt like an idiot for standing uncertainly on his own doorstep. At last, in a hasty attempt at making amends, he grabbed her hand, muttered, "Come on," and pushed open the door.

As usual, Charon was in the kitchen. "Ah, since you two were later than usual, I set the table," he greeted them. And then looked pointedly at Fakir's hand which was still holding Ahiru's wrist.

Fakir couldn't help it. It was some kind of I'm-too-embarrassed instinct on his part. He dropped her hand as if it were burning hot and began stuttering some excuse, which Ahiru interrupted with her own nervous laughter and nonsensical chatter.  
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Charon was no fool. He knew when to leave well enough alone. When Ahiru and Fakir came home that evening, looking at each other shyly, blushing occasionally throughout the meal, Charon refrained from drawing any attention to their uncharacteristic behavior. After all, he wasn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Fakir had finally gotten up enough nerve to go after the girl that he'd been moping for that entire morose summer last year, then it was high time. And if Fakir and Ahiru had both realized that they bickered like a married couple most of the time and really should be together, well, Charon wasn't the one who was going to throw a wrench into the works by drawing attention to it now. Well, at least not yet. Knowing the two of them, they'd draw apart like magnets with the same charge. Just look at what happened when Charon had stared at Fakir holding Ahiru's hand when they entered. Maybe when they grew a little bit more comfortable with each other, he'd start teasing them.

It was probably the most excruciating meal for all of them. Fakir sat with an embarrassment induced glower and only made monosyllabic contributions to the conversation, if it could be called that. Ahiru didn't know what to make of Fakir's sudden shift in behavior or his moody silence and so filled up the dead space with an unending stream of chatter borne of her own anxiety. She wasn't aware of half of the things she was saying and realizing she was probably making an idiot of herself made her even more nervous which made her talk even _more_; it was an awful, vicious cycle.

And Charon, well, he was struggling not to burst out laughing at the two of them and make things even worse. All this awkwardness could only mean that they had finally taken a step towards forming a closer relationship. Charon had first met the girl one evening near the end of last summer when Fakir had brought her home, and at the time Charon had felt a deep sense of gratitude to her. She seemed to have broken the spell of gloom that had descended on Fakir since the spring. He would feel forever grateful to her for that alone, but as hegot to know her, he came to like Ahiru even more—the girl always smiled and somehow managed to make everyone around her smile as well, even if it was only from her antics. Yet Charon realized over the past year that there was a deeper, thoughtful side to this girl, under that carefree, almost scatter-brained surface.

And so Charon knew Ahiru was the best thing that could possibly happen to his introverted son. Fakir needed someone like her, someone with her vivacity and healing smile. Charon certainly wasn't going to jeopardize his son's happiness by making the already bashful couple feel even more self-conscious. No, he would just wait and have a good laugh about this with Rachel later.

As the meal wound down, Charon decided to take pity on the two of them and said as he rose, "I had a rough day, so can you two take care of the dishes? I think I'll turn in early."

Ahiru wasn't sure if Charon's leaving made things more or less awkward. And so, she did what she always did when she felt uncomfortable: talked incessantly while making big gestures. "I'll start picking up the dishes!" she exclaimed a little too loudly while grabbing the plates a little too enthusiastically.

"Hey, be care—" but it was too late. Her leaning tower of dishes was already tottering dangerously. Fakir made a grab for the top half of the stack in an attempt to avert disaster, but a couple of them still end up on the floor.

Ahiru felt awful. "I'm so sorry, Fakir! This is all my fault! I'll clean it up," she said as she rushed frantically to the hall closet for a broom and dustpan. As she walked back to the mess of broken crockery, she continued, "I-I don't know what I was thinking. This entire dinner I mean, I think I was just talking and I don't remember any of what I said. Charon must think I'm crazy." At last, she knelt in front of Fakir who was picking out the bigger pieces of broken glass and ceramic and added, "It's just…I wasn't sure, you know."

He paused, a shard of glass still in his hand as he looked a question at her.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted Charon to know. About…about…" Ahiru could feel her face becoming red, and at last she managed to rush out "about the kiss not that I would want to tell him we we we we k-k-kissed but about—about us I guess."

Fakir clenched his hand in surprise. "What do you mean, you didn't think I wanted him to know about-about us?!" he demanded.

"Fakir, your hand! It's bleeding." Ahiru reached out between them, carefully easing open his fingers, and looking for splinters of glass in the wound.

"What did you mean?" he repeated, unaccountably angry.

Still holding his hand, she looked up at him, "Well, when you, just the way you let go of my hand I guess. And you didn't talk that much, so I thought you thought. I don't know. That it might have been a mistake."

Now Fakir understood why he was angry. He had been afraid of this. That the entire incident, the poem, the confession, the kiss, it had all been a dream, a lie. He had learned after his parents died that hope was foolishness at best. After he dreamt night after night that the terrible accident which had grown out of his story had never taken place, that he would wake the next morning to his father's voice and his mother's breakfast, he had learned that hope was achingly painful at worst. _Hope is a lie_ seemed to be etched in all the scars that lined his chest. Even after watching Ahiru bring hope to Drosselmeyer's tragedy _The Prince and the Raven_, even after Ahiru had turned into a girl once more, even after she had admitted she loved him, he knew that happiness, that hope was not meant for him. After all, scars remained long after wounds closed. And he had been right after all, because this too had turned out to be nothing more than a lie, a dream. He tried to pull back his hand from Ahiru's. "You think it was a mistake?"

Ahiru felt herself starting to get a little angry. Was Fakir even listening to what she was saying? She didn't want to make the cut worse by touching his palm, but she held on firmly to his wrist. "No! I thought _you_ thought that!"

"You idiot! Of course I don't think that! If anything, I thought you would! You didn't say anything about us either and—what the hell am I saying?" Usually when he was angry, Fakir spoke first and thought later. Anger mixed with relief had somehow produced that tirade.

_I'm such an idiot sometimes,_ Fakir thought; after all, Ahiru had shown him over and over the strength of her hope, the power of her love. Perhaps that in itself was the problem. He didn't think he deserved her, her pure love. That she would be better off without him. And so his own subconscious tried to push her away with both hands at the slightest opportunity. But shouldn't he trust in her judgment? Or at least try to?

The silence stretched out between them, Ahiru looking uneasily at the broken dishes on the ground and Fakir looking at her. Finally, he put his other hand on top of hers, which at last made her look up. "I'm sorry, Ahiru. I'm such an idiot sometimes," his lips crooked in a wry smile. "I'll try to change but I'm afraid you might have to put up with it."

She smiled back. "As long as you're only an idiot sometimes," she answered. "So, stop being one right now and let me look at your hand."

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he questioned as she fussed over him.

She glared back. "Jerk. You were the one who grabbed a piece of glass like it wouldn't cut you! Go get some bandages and stuff while I finish cleaning up."

As Ahiru swept up the remaining shards and washed the dishes, Fakir set down the first aid kit on the kitchen table and started disinfecting the cut.

"I'm so sorry about the dishes. Will you apologize to Charon for me?"

"I don't think he'll mind. After all it was only a couple, not the entire set like that other time."

Ahiru groaned into the soapsuds, "Don't remind me! That was awful."

"You really shouldn't try to pick up so many at once."

"Yeah, I know," Ahiru sighed. Drying her hands, she added, "Here, I'll bandage it" and took the roll of gauze in her hands.

"I was embarrassed," he finally muttered, looking intently at the grain of the wooden table.

Ahiru made a questioning noise in her throat, "I-I'm not very good with feelings, Ahiru," he expanded. "I was embarrassed, holding hands in front of Charon."

"Hmm," Ahiru answered, uncertain quite what to make of that. Finished wrapping the bandage, she released his hand, "So you don't want to anymore? Hold hands I mean?"

He reached his fingers out to hers. "No, I want to, that is if you still do. I just wanted to let you know that if I act like an idiot again, it's my fault and you should yell at me."

She smiled again. "Don't worry. I'm good at that." She twined her fingers in his.

"I'll tell him, tomorrow, along with your apology about the dishes, that we're going out. Although, knowing Charon, he's probably figured it out on his own."  
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* * *

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Charon stood in the hallway, quietly watching the homey scene between the two as they sat at the kitchen table, Ahiru cradling Fakir's bandaged hand in both of hers over the table. Charon had been tempted to explore when he heard the loud bang of shattered crockery, but thought they might need the time to work out whatever tension that was between them. Seeing the peaceful and happy looks on both their faces as they talked quietly, he was glad he had given them the space they needed.

The man turned back to his room, a smile on his face. Yes, she was the best thing that could have happened to his son.  
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_Until next time..._


	3. Reaction 3: Pique and Lillie

A/N: This chapter is for the talented **Mangaka-chan** whose wonderful drawing inspired me to finally work on this again. The dialogue between Pique and Lillie was inspired by her work, and I've cited which lines in particular are hers. To see the particular piece that inspired this chapter, please go to (and of course fill in appropriate punctuation):

**mangaka-chan(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)What-happens-when-51935670**

I know it was a long wait, but I wasn't in dire stressed out straits enough to write a fluffy chapter. I hope you enjoy it and I hope that I wrote Pique and Lillie as both in-character and more three-dimensional than I usually portray them as.

Summary: An unabashedly sappy sequel to my other story Princess Tutu OVA: Chapter of the Girl. Following the quotidian details that compose Ahiru and Fakir's happily ever after.

Disclaimer: I own neither Princess Tutu nor any of the quoted/cited material.  
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Fakir was disgruntled. Why did he have to concern himself with the opinions of busybody nobodies? Why did he have to deal with the excited whispers that seemed to crackle like a wildfire from gossipmongers, the disbelieving stares from nosy students when he held Ahiru's hands in his own, his eyes smiling into hers even as his mouth frowned, and nodded in parting as they headed towards the respective buildings of their arts the next morning? 

He seethed over it throughout Felidae's lecture on editing and revision. The eccentric man who seemed to be possessed by the spirit of his old feline ballet instructor was droning on as usual. He hated the whispers and speculation. Didn't these people have anything better to do with their time than mark the changes in his personal life? Of course his reputation as a vengeful murderer when the entire school had thought he had attempted to kill Mytho by pushing him out of a window also influenced his attitude towards their rubber-necking. So willing to believe and so sure in their knowledge, they were just a bunch of fools who couldn't see truth because they never looked for it. They chased shadows of people, claiming to know the real thing.

He had never cared for the opinions of the ignorant, but he wondered now, if he would have been able to get through that experience—when the entire school thought him capable of murdering his best friend—if Ahiru too had believed him such a villain. The entire situation had been a trying one: the horrific transformation in Mytho, the threatening return of the Raven, the atmosphere of distrust and suspicion at school, Charon's disappointment in his suspension. In fact, the only constant in his life at that point had been Ahiru's unwavering belief that he was a decent human being. No, the rest did not bear thinking on.

And of course, just as Fakir had come to that conclusion, he found an irritated Felidae looming over his desk.  
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Ahiru couldn't really believe things were working out so well. It was all like one of those perfect high school romances in those novels that Pique was always secretly reading. The pink-haired girl was usually the level-headed one of their group, but somehow Ahiru had not been surprised when Pique had confessed embarrassedly to the guilty pleasure she took in reading romances. No doubt this is exactly what it felt like to live one of those romances. Well, except for the part where Fakir was crankier than the ideal tall, dark, handsome, and deliciously romantic boyfriend Pique tended to describe. But that was ok too. Ahiru liked his crankiness. 

As if the thoughts had summoned her, Pique rushed through the locker room door just as Ahiru started pulling her practice clothes out. "Ahiru!" Pique exclaimed slightly winded. "What are you doing here so early?"

Ahiru blushed and hoped Pique would not notice as she stammered out ,"S-someone walked with me from the dorms!"

Pique looked mildly curious, as she continued, "Oh, so you were probably already gone when we knocked on your door. What in the world could possibly have gotten _you_ up that early? I gave you up as a lost cause since I thought that you must've been sleeping like the dead if you didn't hear the racket we made!"

"Ahahaha…" Ahiru looked around sheepishly, not wanting to admit that she had set four separate alarm clocks several hours early so in order to avoid oversleeping at all costs. The last thing she wanted to do was stand Fakir up by after making plans last night to walk from the dorms to the classroom buildings with him. In fact, the plan had worked out so well that they'd even had time for breakfast—this was probably the first time she'd ever actually had that particular meal in her life Ahiru had thought and remarked in awe to Fakir. He had merely grunted and made monosyllabic responses until getting that first cup of coffee into him. In a desperate bid to distract Pique from asking any more embarrassing questions, Ahiru blurted out, "Where's Lillie?"

"She got sidetracked by a crowd that was buzzing around outside. I didn't want to be late so I told her I'd go up ahead."

Both girls were in their leotards and lacing up their toeshoes when Lillie pushed open the door with a bang and promptly bent over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath.

"Oh! I have" she puffed, "the most hair-raisingly exciting news!"

As she took another deep gulp of air, Pique interrupted, "No time for that now. Hurry and change, you'll be late." She ushered Ahiru out into the practice rooms as both girls heard a muffled wail behind them, "La-ate?! But that's _Ahiru's_ job!"

They had already started their stretches on the barre by the time Lillie joined them, but fortunately, this ballet teacher, who was no where near as omnipresent as Neko-sensei, had not noticed her tardiness.

Lillie really didn't have an indoors-voice, so even as she attempted to whisper, her words seemed to permeate the entire room, "You won't _believe_ what I just heard!"

In a much quieter voice, Pique, who was raising her left leg as far as she could, asked "Is this the bit of gossip that made you late?"

Lillie had given up any pretence of ballet altogether—it took far too much breath to speak and try to bend yourself nearly in half and no one needed lecture Lillie about her priorities; she had them in exactly the order they needed to be with gossip at the top of the list. "Yes! And wait until you hear it! I know your dying to hear it! As a good friend, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. Fakir-sama is in _love_!" She smiled widely in the glee of having such a choice tidbit to share with her friends. Before either Pique or Ahiru could react, Lillie continued, "He was seen this morning hold hand with—wait for it—" and she concluded triumphantly, "_a girl_!"

Ahiru blushed a deep beet red. But since she was behind both her friends, neither noticed. The picture of boredom, Pique replied "As opposed to what? A duck? Really, Lillie, is this the best you can do? Don't they know who it was?"

As if Pique had not even spoken, Lillie reached out her hands and rested them in a comforting gesture on Pique's shoulders. But really, having been on the receiving end of such comforting gestures, Ahiru knew that that grip was more like a chokehold. "Oh, Pique! I know you're trying to hide your broken heart! You must be shattered, knowing your one true love was found in the arms of another—"

"Well, actually…" Ahiru tried to interrupt her, but her own mortification at the whole situation and Lillie mid-condolence were to much to overcome.

Really, Ahiru would have attempted to straighten things out at least one more time, but just then, she looked up into the irritated gaze of their ballet instructor who tapped her foot impatiently until all gazes met her own displeased one. That certainly ended the discussion.  
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Fakir had no idea how it had happened. Granted Ahiru's hanger-oners usually joined them for lunch, but never before had the experience been quite so tedious. The blonde one looked ready to burst with a flood of questions and kept eyeing him the like the proverbial fox found in the henhouse with its mouth full of feathers. But every time she opened up her mouth, the pink one would rush in and start rattling off some nonsense. Meanwhile, Ahiru kept shifting around every few minutes as if deeply uncomfortable. This preoccupied him even more and he only caught traces of Pink's—really, he would have to learn their names someday as it seemed Ahiru was bent on continuing the friendship—convoluted and nonsensical account of a shopping trip. 

"But although it ended up that there wasn't a sale after all, there were real finds there. Yup, there were some real pearls among the swine," Pique concluded complacently.

Fakir didn't even know where to begin correcting that abused metaphor. No, abused didn't do justice to it. That pink-haired girl had mangled the proverb and it had died a gory death. Silence was the better part of valor Fakir decided.

Ahiru twitched again. She had no idea how to fix this. Until Lillie's words this morning, she had completely forgotten that Pique was part of, what she called "The Fakir-sama Fraction" or was it "Faction"? At any rate, how could she possibly tell her friend? It felt oddly like betrayal. Would Pique be hurt? She'd seemed unaffected when Lillie had first sprung that rumor on them. But now, she was acting so strangely, Ahiru didn't know what to make of any of it.  
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Pique was trying desperately with whatever came to mind to cover Lillie's-not-so-subtle questioning and it seemed no one was willing to help her. Granted she was as eager to hear who had snagged Kinkan Academy's Most Eligible Bachelor as the next member of the Fakir-sama Faction Fanclub, she was also certain that the stormy Byronic hero would through a fit of epic proportions if Lillie outright asked him as it seemed she was more than unabashedly willing to. 

But it seemed luck was not with her that day for Pique, who, much like any teenaged girl, could chatter away for hours if need be, could not think of any thing else to say. Lillie practically pounced on her opportunity, hands clasped, squirming like an over eager five-year-old as she asked, "Tell us, Fakir-senpai, who is it?! Who's your mystery dream-girl? The whole school has been talking about her, but no one knows who she is and it's just like Cinderella! Oh, how terribly romantic! Since no one knows her identity, once she disappears you won't be able to find her, you'll be parted for _years_, until you try on glass slippers and it will be so beautifully tragic—"

And on and on she continued. _Well_, Fakir thought caustically, _at least the pink-haired girl seems to possess a few more brain cells than the blonde_. As ridiculous as her ramblings were, Fakir couldn't help feeling chilled by the seed of truth in them. That if he denied his feelings for her, somehow Ahiru would disappear from his life.

No, he couldn't brush off the question and tell this twitter-pated busybody to mind her own damn business. He had grasped after the broken glass incident that pushing her away was the fastest road to realizing his fears that she would leave him. Besides, Ahiru wouldn't brook rudeness to her friends. Hell, she'd probably get upset at him for being rude to strangers; but that gruffness was part of his character wasn't it? Love wasn't supposed to change you, was it? If you had to change for love, it wasn't love. But then again, love also involved being more concerned for someone else's feelings. For Ahiru he would have to at least try to bear this idiocy.

In that instant, his mind was decided, his resolution firm. He turned to Ahiru and met her shell-shocked and he was ashamed to admit, somewhat fearful—was she afraid she would deny his feelings and reject her again as he had first done in front of Charon?—gaze. Had his resolution been lacking, her insecurity would certainly have decided the matter for him. Fakir was not one for public displays of affection, but sometimes, actions were so much easier than words. An odd thought for a writer, but he felt their truth to his core. Or perhaps it was the perfect thought for a writer, for who else would know the cost of words better than on who must trade in them?

And so he took her hand in a gesture that was so old-fashioned it would have looked ridiculous in anyone else, and brought it to his lips, gently kissing the smooth tanned skin of her knuckles. He looked into her clear blue eyes, startled by this unexpected behavior on his part and he smirked slightly as he told her, "I'll be in library."

Although he would never admit it, Fakir was beating a hasty retreat. He'd made his gesture, clarified his position, but there was nothing in the world that could keep him lingering now that he saw those disturbing gleams lighting up the eyes of Ahiru's friends. They looked like cats ready to pounce on a poor unsuspecting bird. He could almost see their tails lashing back and forth in anticipation. He breathed a sigh of relief when the library doors closed behind him.  
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Two pairs of eyes watched Fakir first kiss their friend's hand and then walk away casually and then all hell broke loose. Of course Pique was a little disappointed that Fakir-sama hadn't chosen _her_ for his girlfriend, but if Pique were honest with herself, she could admit that this was a long time in coming what with all the time Ahiru and Fakir-sama spent together. Seeing the stunned, happy look on the face of the red-headed girl beside her, Pique realized she was really and truly happy for Ahiru. Oh, this was turning out to be just like the romance novel Pique had read last night! Where the quiet, sweet, elegant Cordelia Rosalind—although Pique would have to admit it would be hard to describe Ahiru in exactly those terms—was swept away by the deeply tortured, yet darkly handsome Jean-Lucien!  
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._It shouldn't be possible_, Ahiru told herself as she unconsciously raised the hand to her cheek, _but I can still feel the brush of his lips on my hand_. She gazed after Fakir almost in awe. Of course she had believed him when he had said he loved her. But to see him admit it so freely to the world…She knew what it must have cost him to go against his prickly nature and— 

Surprisingly, Pique got to her before Lillie did; the blonde had been too distracted by squeeing in delighted excitement at this choice bit of gossip. With a look of excited curiosity and a genuine smile, Pique grabbed her dazed friend's shoulder and asked eagerly (1), "So how did Fakir-sama confess to you? I wanna hear all the sappy sweet and cavity inducing details!"

But before Ahiru could so much as open her mouth, Lillie's enthusiastic elbow hooked around her neck. "Oh isn't that just so cute!" she squeaked. Ahiru could almost see the hearts materializing around her. "And then they'll get married and have 10 wonderfully weird and delinquent little children and then…"  
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Until next time..._

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(1) The dialogue starting from this point is from Mangaka-chan's delightful illustration on which this chapter is based. Her drawing is well worth the look. Again, it's at **mangaka-chan(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)What-happens-when-51935670**


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